


cede (victory by yielding)

by cano



Category: League of Legends RPF
Genre: M/M, Time Loop
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-14
Updated: 2018-08-14
Packaged: 2019-06-27 07:51:16
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,457
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15681159
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cano/pseuds/cano
Summary: One time, he could have lived with replaying a match over and over again, when he was like twenty and young and desperate to prove himself, maybe.Now he just kind of wants to die.In the words of a very wise person, a time loop only happened if there was something that needed to be fixed, or, rather — something that should have happened did not happen.





	cede (victory by yielding)

**Author's Note:**

> Shy x Marin time loop story
> 
> I swear to god Shy x Marin isn't crack. Please, won't somebody ship it with me? Anyone? 
> 
> Because, in the beginning, the god of fanfictions dictated that for every fandom there shall be a time loop story and so therefore this *waves hands around in a vague manner* was born.
> 
> Set in 2015 because it was the golden year of LCK and I can’t let go, okay, so don’t talk to me *hisses furiously*
> 
> *****skip to 2018*****
> 
> Uh, so, I wrote this way back in the Spring~Summer season of 2017 and just getting it off my drive now, so please read it based on that timeline. For those who need a refresher: Marin is on Afreeca Freecs, Shy is on ROX Tigers, the meta of choice is Lethality; Armor Pen and Duskblade of Draktharr is all the rage at the moment.
> 
> And wow, Shy is retired and Marin's off god knows where, this ship has become even more obsolete than in 2017.

 

_Cede repugnanti; cedendo victor abibis.*_

—Ovid, Ars Amatoria

 

 

*Give way to your opponent; thus will you gain the crown of victory.

 

 

* * *

 

 

It starts on a Tuesday, because Tuesdays are the devil.

 

LCK does not have Mondays. Most pros don’t have the ‘Monday Disease’ that most working-class people have, thanks to that — but instead, they have the Tuesdays that signal the start of the week, the start of matches and the ever-changing food chain called rankings. So the Tuesdays are the fucking devil itself.

 

No, to be specific, this Tuesday is April 24th. Afreeca has a planned scrim today, nothing big - it’s just to make sure they can still do shit as a team and not mess up - and while it’s offseason and they technically don’t have matches anymore, you can never really relax. Playoffs slipped from their fingers, and the thoughts of _could have done better during_ regular season, _could have placed higher. If only_ — 

 

Everyone tries to stray away from that line of thought. 

 

Anyways, Gyeonghwan wakes up on a devil of a Tuesday, yawns, and automatically makes his way to the direction of a kitchen for something to drink. He’s not really fully awake so he blames it on that when he doesn’t notice the first time around - when a scruffy-haired figure brushes past in his line of peripheral vision, and he doesn’t really pay much attention to that before saying the first thing on his mind.

 

“Hey, do you think you’ve had enough practice on Zed to try it out today?” he calls over to his midlaner, because although he knows Seohaeng doesn’t really play Zed, that broken shit of a champion is way too good in the Lethality meta these days to not have as a pocket pick (or a desperation move, but who cares; if it works it works). Feed that thing a couple of kills, let it roam, splitpush — it’s literally impossible to deal with.

 

“Hyung, what do you mean, Zed’s not really in the meta right now — I mean, he’s not _bad_ , I can play him, but he’d really have no synergy with any of the other champs in the meta right now, also we haven’t practiced a Zed comp. Are you feeling okay?” 

 

He blinks. He’s been talking to his team’s midlaner — his eyes blur and refocus, and the fuzzy-haired figure is much skinnier, somewhat shorter and much more boyish —  except he had been talking to _Sanghyeok_ instead of Seohaeng.

 

“Where’s my team?” he says, and realizes it’s the completely wrong thing to say as he watches confusion and panic set in his former teammate’s eyes.

 

 

* * *

 

 

There’s no _point_  in explaining. Coach Kkoma flat-out begs Gyeonghwan to just play just this _one_ _damn_ match, _because it’s today and they don’t have a replacement_ toplaner _and we can talk about the fact that you think it’s 2017 and you’re playing on Afreeca later._

 

(He catches Kkoma muttering to himself _because temporary insanity is not a valid excuse to forfeit a match_ , and so on and so forth. He missed that guy, no, really.)

 

His former teammates stare at him with something akin to confusion set in their eyes. There’s that sort of disbelief and a flash of unfamiliarity  — the kind that flashed in Sanghyeok’s eyes before he yelled for Kkoma the way someone would scream bloody murder. 

 

Gyeonghwan catches himself wondering if the distance between him and his former teammates were already there, or if it’s exacerbated by him _not being on the same team anymore_ , these aren’t his teammates — if that even makes sense.

 

Anyways, SKT is treating him with more nervousness than before, tiptoeing around Gyeonghwan even more so than he remembers. The tension in the air is thick enough to cut, his former teammates stealing glances at Gyeonghwan and pretending they weren’t.  Seongwoong and Jaewan try to talk to him, but eventually gives up; and Jihoon doesn’t even look his way. It’s stifling. 

 

Gyeonghwan’s so lost in thought and self-reflection that he’s in a daze until up to going on stage, and only when he hears the urgent calls of “hyung!” he snaps to attention and realizes that he’s sitting in the booth, and the picks and bans are already underway.

 

The 2015 meta. Ah. right.

 

He lets his teammates dictate what to pick because honestly he doesn’t have a fucking clue nor does he remember how this went down two years ago. Gyeonghwan silently curses out the Riot Engineers because Thunderlords? Grasp of the Undying? If someone had told him those concepts back in Season 5, he would have laughed in their faces and asked who would let such an overpowered ability be a part of a mastery tree.

 

Now, though.

 

It’s a disaster all around, like he expected. The nerfs are _significant_ , and he’d never noticed because he shut up and gotten used to it. His skillshots are somehow awkward, damage calculation is just a bit off — just a bit lacking. God.

 

They somehow end up winning, but _terribly_. No one talks on the drive back to the gaming house, and Gyeonghwan collapses on his bed, bone-exhausted. He’ll think about all of this tomorrow, or maybe next week, when the (2015) Spring Finals are over and he doesn’t have any more end of the season competitions to worry about. Yeah, that sounds like a good idea.

 

 

* * *

 

 

He opens his eyes and the first thing he thinks is _what a nightmare_.

 

And then he notices the ceiling is white, the way the Afreeca rooms are not, and all he can think is _oh fuck_  and _please no_.

 

He barges out of the room, accidentally slamming the door a little too hard, and scares his midlaner into dropping his morning drink. _Sanghyeok_ , not Seohaeng.

 

“This can’t be happening,” he groans and ignores the increasingly alarmed expression forming on his past-teammate’s face.

 

* * *

 

 

One time, he could have lived with replaying a match over and over again, when he was like twenty and young and desperate to prove himself, maybe. 

 

Now he just kind of wants to die. Somehow, he is here again, on the stage, in the booth. Maybe it’s because he’s a progamer and playing games comes to him by nature, and it’s second instinct just to play. He didn’t even argue with Kkoma this time around, knowing it’s pointless. 

 

Sanghyeok is arguing with Jaewan about what to pick, and everything is white noise that just goes over Gyeonghwan’s head so he thinks _fuck this_ , and locks in Rumble.

 

* * *

 

 

Although the execution was messy, SKT end up winning the series, and _whatever, isn’t that what’s important? The results?_  Gyeonghwan thinks as he gets chewed out (minimally, thanks to the win) by both the coach and the manager in the booth after match is over.

 

He lifts his head and reaches around to take the headset and keyboard from the desktop —  and meets the opposing toplaner’s eyes, wide intense shining with a spark of _recognition_  in them.

 

* * *

 

 

Gyeonghwan opens his eyes to another day in 2015, and the same timeloop starts again, but this time, a change happens. Woke up in the SKT House, check. Scared his midlaner, check. Got in the van and arrived at the studio, got makeup done, check. Grabbed coffee, check. 

 

“Hey, can I talk to you?” 

 

Gyeonghwan nearly drops his coffee at that. Suddenly, Park Sangmyeon has appeared out of nowhere to ruin the pattern and Gyeonghwan blinks — what the. That’s not — he wasn’t here yesterday, or the day before (the same day). He isn’t supposed to be here.

 

“Why do you want to talk to me?” Gyeonghwan asks, more sharply than normal. The opposing toplaner just and grabs him by the wrist — ignoring Gyeonghwan’s offended yelp — and drags him to a remote corner of a staff area. Gyeonghwan opens his mouth to complain but Sangmyeon beats him to it, cutting him off. 

 

“You go through it too,” Sangmyeon murmurs, quiet but firm. “Every day — _the same day_  — over and over again.” 

 

“How — ?” 

 

“The Gnar.” 

 

“How did that — ” _tell you anything_ , Gyeonghwan thinks, then bites his lip.

 

“Today. Or yesterday. During the second set. You used to pick Gnar — I mean, _before_ too — but yesterday in that second set, you picked Rumble.”

 

Sangmyeon smiles, soft and all-knowing like he understands, or something— and a bright flare of anger washes over Gyeonghwan at the attitude, that he dares presumes — and he nearly tells the other toplaner to get the fuck out of his face before he remembers, _time loop._  

 

“You’re…?” Gyeonghwan doesn’t quite know how to word his question but Sangmyeon nods. “Timeloop?” 

 

“Yes. I thought— ” 

 

“You thought you were the only one.” It’s a logical guess, and Sangmyeon nods again.

 

“I mean, everyone else thought I was the crazy one in the morning. Or, two mornings ago.” 

 

So Sangmyeon’s time loop started the same day as Gyeonghwan’s did. It's too strange to be a coincidence. They’re stuck in this thing together, for some crazy unknown reason. Great.

 

“So, what do you propose we do?” Gyeonghwan asks, now that it’s clear that two of them are the only ones from 2017 and the rest of their team think they’re crazy and all. There might be a reason why it’s only the two of them repeating this goddamn day over and over.

 

“Maybe we need to change the outcome of something in order to,” Sangmyeon replies, and waves his hands around in a vauge motion. “get away from this.”

 

Gyeonghwan’s blood turns cold. “You want CJ to win this match,” 

 

“If you put it like that, yes,” says Sangmyeon.

 

“You — ” _fucking_ , Gyeonghwan catches himself from cursing at the other toplaner just in time. “You think the universe threw us back in time just so CJ can have this victory?” _You selfish prick_ , he thinks.

 

“I think,” starts Sangmyeon. “That if the universe threw us back in time, it probably has to do with our occupation, and maybe the match on this date. And since the last two times didn’t change much, we start by manipulating the most obvious variable.”

 

Gyeonghwan grits his teeth. “The victor,” he says.

 

“The results,” Sangmyeon corrects.

 

Gyeonghwan thinks _well what’s the damn difference?_  and barely catches himself before he speaks out loud.

 

It still doesn’t sit well with him that, well, CJ might win, and that might be the key to breaking this loop. It’s as if the universe is saying, oh oops! I made a mistake two years ago letting SKT win that Spring Championship! and sends him, the then-SKT toplaner, back in time supposedly to fix it all.

 

It doesn’t help that Sangmyeon is speaking so neutrally about this whole thing, as if he doesn’t want CJ to win, have the kind of future where CJ were — are — the victors. 

 

_Oh no, I’m just doing this for the greater good — I just want to help you and go back to my own time!_ Gyeonghwan imagines Sangmyeon saying and tempers down another burst of anger.

 

“Alright,” He settles for saying. “let’s try.” 

 

* * *

 

 

They try everything — 3-0 sweep for CJ, 3-0 for SKT, reverse sweep, almost reverse sweep, 3-2, 3-1, all different patterns, all different combinations.

 

Gyeonghwan flat-out refuses for Seongwoong to be subbed in for one, and then insists on starting with him for another. He yells and yells, voice hoarse. 

 

Sangmyeon grows quieter and quieter during plays, going practically silent save the utterly-terrifying one word orders he calls out and that no one dares to do anything but _obey_.

 

It’s absolutely hellish because semis are five-match sets, and they need to try every single possiblity, that magic combination that will break this godforsaken time loop, and one missed set means everything is now useless and they have to wait until the next day to try again. 

 

It’s a practice camp from hell.

 

“It’s good practice, if not anything else,” Sangmyeon tries, after what seems to be around their fifty-ninth loop. “at the very least, I think our shotcalling has improved.” 

 

Gyeonghwan give that statement exactly what it deserves — a sarcastic, pained groan that means _are you kidding me_.

 

“It’ll be useful when we get back to our time,” Sangmyeon attempts to reason, ever the pacifist.

 

“ _If_  we ever get back to our timeline, you mean,” Gyeonghwan replies. His left eyebrow is twitching.

 

Sangmyeon doesn’t reply, and Gyeonghwan quietly curses himself for the slip-up.

 

Not being able to go back to their time — their reality — is a fear that neither of them want to acknowledge. 

 

* * *

 

 

On their hundred something? — whatever, it’s been a while since they counted —  loop, they’re both tired and exhasuted; and Sangmyeon isn’t having any more of this.

 

“Let’s get out of here.” he says.

 

“What?” Gyeonghwan isn’t sure he’s hearing things right. “But the match is starting in less than an hour, are you _serious_ ,” 

 

“I know, so let’s get out of here.”

 

“Are you _insane_ ,” Gyeonghwan asks, incredulous.

 

“Not yet,” Sangmyeon says, and Gyeonghwan hears the _but I’m afraid I might_ be, _if this keeps going on_  in the usually-effortless smile that he wears.

 

“But,” he sputters. “The match. Our teammates. _The people who came to watch_.” We’d all be letting them down, he almost says, and thinks better of it. 

 

“Well, hopefully the day will reset.” Sangmyeon replies, as if obvious.

 

“What if it doesn’t?” Gyeonghwan counters.

 

“Then we get a clue to how to go about breaking this time loop,” Sangmyeon responds evenly. “If it breaks and we go back to 2017, great. If it breaks partially and we move on to April 25, frankly I’ll take that too, at this point.”

 

Gyeonghwan wants to argue, but finds that he can’t refute. He feels the same way, actually, if anything about this damn loop would change, he’d be grateful.

 

“Look,” Sangmyeon runs a hand through his hair. “Right now, it’s _frustrating_. No matter what we do, it isn’t working, so I think we can conclude that the result of the matches aren’t what breaks the timeloop. It’s the same damn day over and over and _nothing_.”

 

“Okay,” Gyeonghwan allows. “What do you want to do?” 

 

Sangmyeon gives Gyeonghwan a small, slightly cheeky grin that makes him immediately want to take back what Gyeonghwan himself just said, or slap Sangmyeon, if only to get that expression off his face. “It’s been a long time since I saw a movie.” 

 

* * *

 

 

“You _fucker_ ,” is the first thing out of Gyeonghwan’s mouth as soon as the credits roll.

 

“What?” Sangmyeon has the audacity to look innocent.

 

“You said you wanted to watch a movie. This,” He points at the ending credits of Edge of Tomorrow. “Is just basically a timeloop study.” 

 

“Yes. I thought it might have a clue as to what might be causing this loop. _And_ I enjoyed the movie too,” Sangmyeon sounds a bit confused, (and as much as it pains Gyeonghwan to admit it) understandably. “Didn’t you _want_ to break the time loop?”

 

Gyeonghwan… doesn’t have a smart answer for that. It’s true what Sangmyeon said, and he has no real reason to be so pissed off about a movie choice, at the most. Still it irks Gyeonghwan, and so he had responded much more nasty than he normally would have, or with any other person.

 

The truth is, _something_  about Park Sangmyeon bothers Gyeonghwan; it’s like the other toplaner has this uncanny ability to get under Gyeonghwan’s skin like no one else. It doesn’t make sense, because Sangmyeon has done nothing to piss him off, other than the mere fact that he exists. 

 

* * *

 

Loop uhh… two hundred? They do whatever the hell they want now — money doesn’t matter, since everything resets anyway — Gyeonghwan dyes his hair for one repeat just for the heck of it, Sangmyeon takes them to an expensive restaurant by stealing someone else’s reservation. 

 

They watch a movie. They watch multiple movies, some in theaters and some not. They go to Lotte World, just because they can and the progamer schedule never allowed it often before, so now they take the full advantage of the loop, and one time they’re so tired they just sneak off and spend the entire day at a luxury hotel just to relax. Another loop, they go to a sauna and stay there all day, eating baked eggs and drinking _shikhae_.

 

They’re in a manhwa cafe today, knee-deep in every single series even remotely related to timeloops. There’s a mix of weird fantasy-harem thing, fantasy-game-in reality series which have been no help at all, and a series called _Love You Enough to Die_ * which has been the most helpful thing so far. 

 

(The only problem is that in the series, the timelooped individual must die for the day to reset, and live in order to move on with the day. So far, both Sangmyeon and Gyeonghwan have not died and yet the day still loops, and the two are not so keen on resulting to murder just to test out a theory. Not yet.)

 

“Alright,” Gyeonghwan collapses on the chair. “We’ve read every single internet lore about timeloops. We’ve watched Groundhog Day and Edge of Tomorrow _twice_. You’ve checked out every single book and comic about timeloops. And yet, we’re not even _remotely_  closer to breaking it.” Sangmyeon keeps staring at his phone, supposedly in a chat with a friend about a hypothetical time loop, not giving an answer nor an indication he heard Gyeonghwan. He tries not to get annoyed. He really, really does.

 

When Sangmyeon still does not answer, or look up, Gyeonghwan has to grit his teeth from snapping at him. He vows to be the bigger man and instead asks a question, a bit louder this time.

 

“Do you think there’s a reason it’s April 24th, 2015? I mean, this is two years ago. Why is this date significant? Why are we back at this day?” 

 

“My friend says that a time loop only happens if there was something that needed to be fixed.” Sangmyeon finally looks up from his phone to answer. Gyeonghwan tries to peer at the screen, but from the distance he’s sitting at, he can’t read the conversation word for word. Doesn’t recognize the name either.

 

“So there’s something that needs to be fixed, on this date?” Other than the match results? _Because we’ve already tried that, remember._

 

“That’s what his theory is,” Sangmyeon gestures to his phone. “But we already tried. A lot. With the matches.” he sighs.

 

Gyeonghwan half-nods in agreement. “I can’t think of anything else that the universe feels the need to bring back two progamers back in time for, other than playing games."

 

Sangmyeon makes a sound of assent, and they don’t get much else done for the rest of the hour. As they walk out of the cafe, Gyeonghwan asks one more time, just for curiosity’s sake:

 

“Are you sure you don’t remember there being anything to fix?” 

 

Something flickers in Sangmyeon’s eyes but it’s gone, and Gyeonghwan waves it off as a figment of his imagination. The questions lingers between them, unanswered, until Sangmyeon heads off in the direction of his friend’s house to stay the night, and Gyeonghwan finds a motel to crash at.

 

They’ve become experts at this by now. As soon as the day resets, they both methodically turn off their phones and disappear into the city. They always sleep outside, learned that the hard way, after the first time they skipped the match and came back to the gaming house at the end of the night because habit. Gyeonghwan had gotten his ear chewed off and Sangmyeon won’t say what had happened. 

 

The two had both silently agreed they never want to repeat that, even if their looped teammates don’t remember, and they just stay overnight at a motel. It never matters since Gyeonghwan always opens his eyes to the SKT room (he gets his own) with white walls, no matter where he ends the night at.

 

* * *

 

 

“I,” Sangmyeon starts, then pauses. His eyes flicker and he takes a deep breath like he has come to a decision. "I'm pretty sure I was half in love with you, back in 2015.” 

 

Gyeonghwan drops his drink. " _What_.” 

 

The coffee spills all over his shirt and thank god it’s iced, if it had been hot he’d have gotten burns from it. The girl working at the counter looks faintly alarmed as she comes to help, and Sangmyeon waves her away and mops up the mess with a napkin as Gyeonghwan tries — and fails — to salvage his shirt. 

 

They’re in a cafe. They were literally drinking coffee and not doing anything — not even _talking_ , actually — when Sangmyeon bursts out with that surprise confession, and _what the fuck_. Gyeonghwan’s head is spinning. 

 

“What do you even — ” he stops. “What do you _like_  about me?” 

 

“You really don’t know?” 

 

There is a moment that Gyeonghwan thinks Sangmyeon is making fun of him, and it’s broken at once when he says, “Oh god, you really don’t, do you,” and it’s a statement, not a question. 

 

“You have no idea. What you look like, when you’re playing. All intense and fire-eyed, passionate, and… and… I sometimes can’t believe you’re real, you know.” 

 

“You smile at the fans although you feel awkward all the time, and you have this laugh, that you do when you’re uncomfortable — that’s different from your real laugh. You get really worked up over the littlest things, and it’s cute how you get flustered.” Sangmyeon smiles. “And of course, you’re really good at League of Legends.” 

 

“What does that have to do with anything?” is all Gyeonghwan can manage to say. He focuses on the part about his League skill, mostly so his brain doesn’t have to process everything else Sangmyeon just said.

 

“I was gonna confess.” Sangmyeon continues on. “Was thinking about it. But then Spring Finals happened, and I didn't - I couldn't, not when you kicked my ass to the curb and…" he stops and lets out a short laugh. “I felt pathetic. I couldn’t make myself do it, not when I was so low, and you were at the top of the world. I felt like I didn’t even have the right to harbor feelings for you. I wanted to be your equal, to stand up to you, so I could be someone you could take seriously and not with— with pity, or something.” 

 

He stops and looks at Gyeonghwan, and for some reason Gyeonghwan wants to turn his eyes away.

 

"Anyways I was going to confess when I was, you know, not completely beaten and licking my wounds in a corner, but then one game that I did win, it happened to be against your team. Imagine how that'd go, someone who just won against you confesses. Right.” Gyeonghwan has to snort at that too. 

 

"The last game of the summer season, it ended way too late for me to talk to you. Not that it would have mattered.  You won but we lost, and horribly too.”

 

He grins, rueful, and with that Gyeonghwan is transported - _metaphorically_ \- back to the last match of the 2015 summer season. The hot summer air despite sun having set, the cold A/C in the arena, the brutal sets where they subbed Jihoon in, and going three full matches against the then-Najin — _long_ matches that had Gyeonghwan's wrist screaming in protest. He absently rubs the spot where his bones meet sinew, wrist aching in phantom pain just by remembering.

 

He remembers winning. He remembers screaming in half relief and half joy when the nexus finally broke, and immediately feels a stab of guilt at not even noticing whether Sangmyeon’s team had won or lost.

 

"And then it was Worlds, my team didn't make it yet again, and I was stuck in the sidelines watching your team, you, take the title of the champions again, like it was your rightful place.”

 

Surprisingly, Sangmyeon doesn’t sound bitter. Gyeonghwan thinks — no, _knows_  — that if their positions had been reversed, he could not have stopped himself from being horribly, brutally envious. 

 

Instead Sangmyeon says it matter-of-factly, like how the sky is blue, the water is wet, et cetera, and sounds maybe a bit awed, admiring - not jealous. How, Gyeonghwan finds himself thinking. 

 

“Oh, I _am_  envious. Believe me. I just had time to mull it over and over. I have to admit, when I landed back in time, I hoped for a second… well, that I might have the chance to change the past. Lead CJ to a season win. To Worlds, to victory.” Sangmyeon sounds forlorn, even to Gyeonghwan’s ears.

 

“Then I found out that you were stuck in this loop too. And tried all those different match results. That’s when I realized that it couldn’t be changed — the winner, I mean — and made my peace with it. What’s happened is the past” he shrugs “Well, except when not.” 

 

“Why are you telling me this?” Gyeonghwan asks.

 

“Well, remember my friend who said time loops happen because there’s something that needs to be fixed?” 

 

Ah, that. “So—” 

 

Sangmyeon interrupts. “Well, he also told me something that should have happened did not happen.” He grins but it’s softer and more hesitant, betraying. “So here’s me doing what I should have done. I loved you. Should have just said it.” 

 

Gyeonghwan waits, maybe for that magical moment when the time loop shatters like glass, or maybe waking up like a dream, or for Sangmyeon to add _something_ — but nothing happens. “That’s it?” 

 

“Yeah, that’s it.” Sangmyeon says diplomatically. “That’s all I wanted to say.” 

 

“Um, do you want to, uh, date me —” he cringes a little bit here “or something?” 

 

“What?” Sangmyeon looks so surprised, so taken back for a second that Gyeonghwan thinks shit, but before he can do anything, say anything, Sangmyeon laughs, soft and reassuring and somehow ever so grating on Gyeonghwan’s nerves. 

 

“No, no. Nothing like that. I told you, it was in the past.” He rubs the back of his head, as if he’s embarrassed. “It was a crush — and I got over it.”  

 

“Oh. I see.” and there’s nothing else to say after that, and an awkward silence falls upon both of them. 

 

Gyeonghwan storms out of the cafe then, rushed and somehow angry— no, _furious_ — for some reason, but can’t put his finger on it. Sangmyeon doesn’t stop him, doesn’t say a word.

 

* * *

 

 

He sniffs the shirt in the morning when he wakes up (still April 24th, 2015). Like he expected, it’s spotless, and there’s not even a whiff of the coffee scent left from the drink he spilled yesterday/today.

 

He doesn’t bother calling the other toplaner, or even leaving a message. He just turns off his phone and disappears into the city, restless for some reason.

 

* * *

 

 

Half in love with him. Back in 2015. The words echo in his head and won't leave him alone.

 

Before he can stop himself, he turns on his phone and dials Sangmyeon’s number and presses the call button. It rings three times before the recipient picks up, and Gyeonghwan doesn’t even let him say _hello_  before he cuts straight to the point.

 

"You said you had been in love with me. Had. _Back in 2015_ ," Gyeonghwan snaps over the phone.

 

"Yes," Sangmyeon answers, and if Gyeonghwan cared, he'd have noted that Sangmyeon sounds wary. 

 

He doesn't care. Not now.

 

“ _Had_. Does it still apply now?” 

 

“I don’t…” 

 

“ _I_ do.” Gyeonghwan interrupts. “You said it yourself: a time loop only happens if something needs to be fixed, or something that should have happened didn’t happen. We tested everything, tried everything else that we could. Maybe _this_  — ” he jabs a finger at the space where he imagines Sangmyeon to be standing. “ —needs to be tested too.” He's rambling now, angry and rushed and so very cruel.

 

 “So answer me.” Gyeonghwan demands.

 

He can hear Sangmyeon’s faint intake, the pause, and Gyeonghwan is _tired_ ; tired of the time loop and the stress of it all, he is tired and out of patience and he does not have the time to deal with this.

 

(That's a lie. He technically has all the time in the world to deal with this, because, after all, _time loop_. But he really can't stand it anymore, the repeat of matches, the same meal, the same reactions, and the only change in the mundane is Sangmyeon, who he can no longer deal with, can no longer stand the kind gazes and smiles and the knowledge he'll wake up and face Sangmyeon once again — whether in real life or in a match — with the smiles meaning more, and the fact he'll get to know him more and more each repeating day, like the small tidbit that he used to have feelings for him, used to be _in love with him_.)

 

"Are you in love with me? Right now?”  _Are you **still** in love with me_ , he means, and there, he goes for the killing blow — straight to the jugular, a classic Jang Gyeonghwan move.

 

There is no answer so he hangs up and throws the phone at the wall in frustration, and it makes an audible crack as it hits the floor screen-first. Whatever. It’ll be _fine_  again by tomorrow, thanks to this time loop.

 

 

* * *

 

 

He opens his eyes to the 24th of April (2015) yet again, but this time, to a loud arguing coming from somewhere and the wide-eyed stare of his teammates.

 

“Hyung,” Seongwoong starts. “There’s someone here to see you.” 

 

“More specifically, a certain toplaner is here to see you,” Jaehyun adds, like the dick he is.

 

“Let me guess,” Gyeonghwan groans. “It’s the toplaner we’re facing later today.” 

 

“Um, yeah, how did you — ” he sounds sort of surprised, but Gyeonghwan ignores him and plows through the young ones as they split for him and immediately start gossiping once he’s out of their eyesight. _Seriously_.

 

“Do you think he’s here to, you know, 'take care of the competition' before the match? Like to ensure they win?” Jaewan murmurs. Always going for the most extreme scenario, of course.

 

“I bet Gyeonghwan-hyung said something during soloq and followed it up with '1v1 me IRL.’ Oh boy,” and that’s Yechan, and _wow_ he is touched by his how much faith his teammates have in him.

 

“Why does it have to be today? We need that hyung for today’s game. _And_ the rest of the playoffs,” and leave it to _Sanghyeok_  to be so very caring about his value as a toplaner for matches and _not_  as a human.

 

Whatever. It’s not like he was particularly nice to Sanghyeok; probably stole one too many kills during teamfights for him to care for his well-being as nothing more than a nice big tank that exists to teleport on a ward in when a mid skirmish goes wary.

 

“Maybe he really is here to murder Gyeonghwan-hyung. Certainly looks mad enough.” Jaehyun notes, maybe a bit too gleefully, from where he is “hiding” with others — which honestly doesn’t say much as they’re just sticking his head out from a wall they’ve ducked behind — and Gyeonghwan _can see them all._

 

Bastards, all of them, really.

 

“Let’s talk somewhere else” he tells Sangmyeon, and heads for the front door even before he hears an affirmative.

 

They end up by the emergency stairway because it’s the one place that offers any sort of privacy within the building. Gyeonghwan can hear their steps echo, and feels dread creep upon him. He turns to Sangmyeon and opens his mouth to say something — anything, but takes one look at the steel in Sangmyeon’s eyes, and immediately goes silent.

 

“You didn’t let me finish,” says Sangmyeon.

 

“I regretted it, not being able to say  _anything_ that year and then you were in China, so I just thought it was a lost chance — a lost cause, and pushed it to the back of my mind and told myself I could live with it. It faded, and when you came _back_ , I… I let myself think that it was all over, my _feelings_  for you were done and over with and gone and that it was fine. I was fooling myself.” 

 

He stops and Gyeonghwan can’t breathe.

 

“Yes, I am still in love with you.” He says —  whispers, really, like a confession wrung out of him and in many ways it is. He sounds wrecked and resigned — Sangmyeon knows he’s at the end of his rope, at Gyeonghwan’s mercy.

 

That knowledge makes a strange emotion crawl up Gyeonghwan's spine and settle in his belly that he belatedly recognizes as _satisfaction_ , and has no idea what to make of this fact.

 

He gave himself to Gyeonghwan on a silver platter, all of him, offered up for whatever Gyeonghwan pleases to do. It pleases him that Sangmyeon is at his mercy, his for the taking and Gyeonghwan thinks, _oh_ , viciously. A voice inside his head is screaming _victory_ and he wants to twist Sangmyeon around his finger until he breaks.

 

“So, what now?” Sangmyeon asks.

 

“What do you mean?” 

 

“I’m in love with you. I’m _still_  in love with you. I’ve admitted it,” he says. Sangmyeon’s face is a lovely shade of red that momentarily distracts Gyeonghwan for a second because he’s admiring the particular color. “Does it matter to you? At all?” 

 

Gyeonghwan goes still. 

 

“Are you,” Sangmyeon swallows, and Gyeonghwan’s eyes follow the movement of the throat. “Are you in love with me? At all?” 

 

_I’ve confessed, I’ve spilled my guts. What’s your answer?_ Sangmyeon’s eyes seem to say.

 

“You,” Gyeonghwan pauses for a moment to unscramble his brain, to search for the right arrangement of words to describe his thoughts. “You annoy me.”

 

Wow. Nice job. Wonderful speech. Jang Gyeonghwan, king of making elegant speeches.

 

Sangmyeon is frozen for a second, then snorts.

 

The snort, thankfully, relaxes something in Gyeonghwan, so he plows on. “You get under my skin like no one else. You pick the exact counters in lane during matches. Somehow, I have trouble against you. I’m always noticing you, and you have this annoying smile on your face all the time, and it bugs me. You’re nice too — and who’s even that nice?” He’s rambling, Gyeonghwan realizes, and cuts himself off. 

 

“You notice me?” Sangmyeon, gods be damned, sounds _hopeful_.

 

“Yes, of course I do.” Gyeonghwan wants to stop here and not elaborate, but then, all of this conversation would have been meaningless. “And you never seemed to notice me, or be affected by me, and that… that irked me.” _I wanted to get under your skin just as much as you did._

 

“You…” starts Sangmyeon, but Gyeonghwan cuts him off. He needs to get this off his tongue before he loses his nerve.

 

“You were Shy. Not Sangmyeon, but _Shy_. When I didn’t know you, I was prepared to hate you, and I did for some time — out of sheer stubbornness, I think. But then... Then you weren’t… what I expected.” 

 

Silence hangs around them and Gyeonghwan wills for a higher power to smite him, or do something to get him out of this situation. He wants to die. Then Sangmyeong opens his mouth and takes a deep breath.

 

“Well, maybe since we got off on the wrong foot, we can start this off again,” Sangmyeon says, with a tiny grin on his face. “Time loop, remember?” 

 

“I swear to god, I am going to _hit_ you,” threatens Gyeonghwan.

 

Sangmyeon laughs softly and Gyeonghwan can finally admit to himself that it’s a nice sound, that he likes the way it rings ever so quietly in his ears.

 

“Hi, I’m Park Sangmyeon,” he sticks out his hand. “Toplaner. Specialty is Jax.” He pauses a moment. “I can’t remember my age, because technically this is 2015, so I’d be two years younger.” 

 

Gyeonghwan just stares at the outstretched hand like _are you serious_. Sangmyeon wiggles his fingers, as if saying _c’mon, humor me_ , and he gives in with a sigh, grabbing the hand and shaking it like a dead weight. 

 

“I’m Jang Gyeonghwan. Toplaner. A year older than you,” he makes sure to point out. Unfortunately, that doesn’t rattle Sangmyeon at all, he just looks at Gyeonghwan with a straight face and replies, “Nice to meet you.” 

 

Gyeonghwan lets go of Sangmyeon’s hand slowly. This doesn’t magically erase the image he had of the former-CJ toplaner, or replace his first impression, but now — it feels like they somehow, managed to backtrack from the wrong way back to the starting point.

 

“So, now what?”

 

“You know, I’ve asked you that exact question just five minutes ago.” says Sangmyeon. “What do you mean by ‘now what?’” 

 

“I mean,” Gyeonghwan runs his hand through his hair, mind full of questions that want to tumble off his tongue. _Where do we go from here? Do we date? Hold hands? Kiss? What about the time loop? What if we can’t go back to 2017? Can we even date with our teams fighting for regional spots in the upcoming season?_

 

“What do you want?” he asks Sangmyeon instead.

 

“I want,” and Sangmyeon pauses, gathering his thoughts.

 

“I want to add you on League. I want to Skype you. I want to go to Lotte World and COEX Aquarium again, _together_. I want to hold your hand. I want to get coffee with you before matches. I want to play you again. Oh god,” Sangmyeon laughs with his eyes bright.

 

“I want to beat you,” Sangmyeon declares, confident, and Gyeonghwan has to crack a grin at that, because that’s what he wants as well — he wants to _win_. 

 

And the startling realization is that in a way, he did — because Sangmyeon surrendered himself to Gyeonghwan, and now is _his_  for the taking

 

“You won't,” Gyeonghwan states, haughty, and that wins a smile from Sangmyeon, full of warmth with a dash of competitiveness. He leans into Gyeonghwan, into his personal space but Gyeonghwan doesn’t mind so much now.

 

“Go out with me,” Sangmyeon murmurs against his ear. “Whether tomorrow’s the 23rd or the 24th of 2015 or 2017, I don’t care.”

 

And there’s not much to reply to that with, other than a breathless “ _Yes_ ,” and he feels the smile against his mouth as Sangmyeon seizes that moment and steals a kiss, triumphant.

 

(Gyeonghwan lets him, lets him get away with such insolence for once, because he’s feeling generous, and Sangmyeon is Gyeonghwan’s to keep.)

 

* * *

 

 

Gyeonghwan opens his eyes to the 24th of April, 2017. He unlocks his phone and dials a number now burned into his memory.

 

“Hello,” Sangmyeon answers, and Gyeonghwan hears the smile in his voice.

 

(It turns out that they don’t go on a date that day, because Afreeca has a scrim and ROX needs to film for a game show that’s airing in May. But it’s the sentiment that counts, right?)

**Author's Note:**

> Shoutout to my twitter friends, who, as I was writing this:
> 
> me: how do i break this timeloop  
> friend 1: kiss  
> friend 2: sex  
> me: YOU GUYS  
> friend 3: well if kiss or sex happens between those two, it’ll be something close to a miracle  
> friend 3: and i think a miracle is enough to break a timeloop  
> me: (dying noises)
> 
> So yeah, a kiss made its way onto there, but not sex. YOU GET ONE NOT THE OTHER (or both). LIVE WITH IT.
> 
> The plot (can I call it that?) was something that’s been on my mind since, oh, I dunno, _2016,_ when Marin had jetted off to China, and I kept thinking about these particular matches I’ve mentioned in the fic and the _what ifs_. I mostly wanted to see a time-loop story, then my friend told me a time loop only happens when there’s something that needs to be fixed, or something that should have happened didn’t happen. My interpretation of this was that Shy didn’t confess. But a kiss ended up breaking the time-loop, so, lots of credit to my twitter friends, yay.
> 
>  
> 
> The title and the dynamic within the fic was inspired from the quote by Ovid - because with Jang Gyeonghwan, the only way to win him in love is to yield.
> 
> I'm just getting a lot of my old fics off my drive, and I really love the dynamic between Shy and Marin. _Especially_ when they had 1v1s in toplane - sigh. I blame all the parts that seemed rushed on my lack of sleep -- i started editing at 4am and now it's, oh, 7:15 am.


End file.
